The Kid Who Ran For President by Dan Gutman Read Free Book Online Page B

heard of.
    â€œWhy did you turn down Meet the Press ?” I asked Lane. “I thought that was your favorite show.”
    â€œYou’re not ready to meet the press,” he replied.
    In the middle of all this, I managed to get through to school and tell them I wouldn’t be coming in. I told the secretary I had a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, which was absolutely true. She had read the papers, and said she thought everybody would understand.
    By ten o’clock, reporters started gathering out on the front lawn, setting up cameras and satellite hookups. Some guy was trying to interview me with a bullhorn. I pulled the shades down. It was like Night of the Living Dead , when the zombies are trying to claw their way into the house.
    We decided to let just one reporter in — Pete Guerra, the guy who came out to the lemonade stand and wrote the first story about my run for the presidency.
    Â 
    â€œThe power of the press,” muttered Guerra after pushing his way through the mob of reporters and through the front door. “You’re gonna have to reseed your lawn, Moon. Reporters are worse than animals.”
    Pete sat down on the living room couch and asked a few questions. When he was finished, he asked me if I would mind a little friendly advice. I told him I would appreciate any tips he might have.
    â€œYou kids are new at this,” he said. “Lots of people want you, Moon. But there’s something you should know. Nobody out there is your friend. Everybody wants a piece of you. To sell newspapers or magazines. To improve their TV or radio ratings, or get suckers to click on their web site. To make money. All I’m sayin’ is, be careful. Don’t trust anybody . America chews up celebrities and spits ’em out. I hate to see a nice kid like you get burned.”
    I thanked Pete for the advice. It was obvious that he was more than just a reporter. I could count on him as a friend.
    As Pete pushed his way out the door and through the throng of reporters and cameramen on the front lawn, I spotted Gus, our mailman. Lane and I ushered him inside.
    â€œThey say dogs with rabies are dangerous!” Gus said, handing me a thick stack of letters. “Some guy just offered me fifty bucks to give you a note.”
    â€œWhat did you tell him, Gus?”
    â€œI told him he could get it here a lot cheaper if he’d just put a stamp on it.”
    Usually the mail is a bunch of catalogs and coupons and other junk. But the pile of mail Gus handed me was a bunch of letters in regular-size envelopes with my name and address written on them by hand. I pulled out one envelope and ripped it open.

    A check for $34.25 fluttered to the ground. I ripped open another envelope. It was from a kid in Arkansas who put up a lemonade stand. $52.50 in bills and change tumbled out.
    Lane and I put all the envelopes on the floor and started furiously ripping them open. There were about fifty of them. Some were simply addressed JUDSON MOON, MADISON, WISCONSIN .
    Some of the letters were from kids who put up lemonade stands. Other kids had car washes, bake sales, or yard sales. Kids were actually selling their own toys to raise money for me!
    With each letter was a check or a bunch of bills. The largest contribution was $103.
    We counted up all the money and it came to $2,568.75. We felt like we had won the lottery.
    â€œYou’re a genius,” I told Lane.
    â€œAnd you ,” Lane said, clapping a hand on my back, “are becoming America’s hero.”

In the next few days, Americans must have guzzled a lot of lemonade. Poor Gus showed up at the door with an enormous sackful of envelopes. He looked like Santa Claus. Money and gifts poured in from all over the country.
    Deep in the pile was a card that said I had a package waiting for me at the post office, and that I should come get it right away. I went over there to pick it up and the package was a dog — a little